Obsession
by Chibi Hermione
Summary: Ch. 3 up, finally! Story about an obsession w our fav. detective. See if you believe that she's sane. Please r&r!
1. The Stalker

**Obsession (A _Sherlock Holmes Vignette)_**

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**By: Chibi Hermione**

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**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (though I wish I did!) **

**A/N: This is NOT a Mary-Sue, even though it _is _Female First Person POV.**

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I am neither insane, psychotic, nor delusional. I am merely obsessed. Just because I'm obsessed, it doesn't mean that I'm mentally incompetent. That's a common misconception, however, so do not feel so bad if you thought that I was. But, I can assure you that my little obsession is just that; a little obsession. I can convince you that I am perfectly sane, not psychotic, and undelusional, if not just a little bit obsessive as I tell you about the subject of my obsession.

For the past few months, I've developed a little tiny bit of an obsession with a certain unofficial consulting detective by the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Like I've said; a _little _obsession. I read about him in the newspapers, and _The __Strand__. I follow him around London when I can find him at times, although it _is _a bit difficult. _

While I'm following him (a feat that's harder than it looks,) I often take photographs of him. See, I _told _you I'm not mad! If I've still been unable to convince you of my sanity, then let me continue.

I have a small room in my flat where I mount my photographs of Mr. Holmes on the walls of the room, and all the newspaper clippings of him there, as well. I also keep all of the stories in _The Strand _that are about him lying in neat stacks on the floor of my little shrine to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. 

I know I am perfectly sane, because if I wasn't, I'd dig through his garbage, or try to sneak into his flat, or something, and I've done neither of those things, so like I've said, I am the sanest, if not a bit obsessive woman in London, and I hope I've convinced you, my good readers, as well.

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**A/N: If anyone believes that the narrator is _not _crazy, then you're as crazy as her. This kind of sounds like _The Tell-Tale Heart _by Edgar Allan Poe. Please read it if you want to see the similarities. Please R&R!**

**Love From,**

**Chibi Hermione**


	2. The Detective

**Obsession **

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**By: Chibi Hermione**

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**A/N: Just to make my friend happy, there will be a dedication following this note, so if it doesn't fit in with the story, blame Brian Fisher, not me! Thank you.**

This chapter is dedicated to the ginger-bread men who yell, ''No, not the buttons! Not my gumdrop buttons," in high squeaky voices.

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**Chapter Two: The Detective**

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As I was walking down to my flat at 221 B Baker Street, I felt that I was being followed. At first, I just dismissed that notion, and continued on my way. A few minutes later, I felt it again, so I turned around and saw…

No one. Not a person, cat, dog, rat, or anything else that could possibly follow a person, so I shrugged and continued. When I came inside, Watson said, "What is it, Holmes?" 

"I just had the queerest feeling as I was walking down Baker Street," I said.

"What was it," asked Watson.

"Well, it was odd, but I felt that I was being followed," I told him.

"Followed! By who," asked Watson. 

"I don't know, but as I said, it was just a feeling, no evidence," I answered.

"Right," said Watson, and went back to his paper.

 Later that day, when I was taking a walk with Watson, again I got that feeling that someone was following us. I turned around a few times, but it didn't look like anyone was following us.

About the fifth time I turned around, Watson said, "What are you doing?"

"I feel like we're being followed, Watson," I answered.

"Have you seen anyone, Holmes," asked Watson.

"No. But, it's just a feeling. You can't really go on feelings," I said. 

This kept up for days. I would go out somewhere, and would feel someone following me, but when I turned around, there'd be no one there. So, I just kept telling myself that it was just my imagination. Either that, or I was insane, but I didn't really believe it was the latter.

However, one day, while I was walking down Oxford Street, I caught the person who was following me. She was petite, with dark brown hair in a bun, and blue-green eyes. She also held a camera in her hands.

"Who are you," I asked.

"Zinnia George," she said.

"Why are you following me," I asked.

Miss George just shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

"What's that camera for," I asked next, pointing at it.

"For taking pictures," she said matter of factly.

"I _know _that," I said, irritably. "What of?"

"You," she giggled.

This surprised me a good deal. I didn't know what to say next.

"I take a lot of pictures of you, Mr. Holmes. I follow you around nearly every day, and I take your picture," she added.

Slowly, I started to back up. _This woman is insane, _I thought.

Zinnia started to walk towards me, and I continued to back away, until I hit the side of a building.

"I hang up all of the pictures I take of you on my walls," she told me, mere inches away.

"You do," I couldn't help but ask.

"Yes. And that's not all. I also hang up all the newspaper clippings with you in them on my walls," replied Miss George.

"You're completely insane," I told her.

"No, I'm not. I'm completely sane," was her pleasant sounding response.

I wasn't going to stand here, and argue with an insane woman, so I didn't respond.

"I'll admit, I _am _a little obsessive but nothing more," said Miss George.

"A little? Dear lady, I think you're more than a little obsessive," I said.

"No I'm not, because if I was more than a little obsessive, I'd dig through your garbage, or sneak into your flat," she proclaimed.

"What, do you mean to say you don't," I cried.

"Yes, I never have, and probably never will," she stated.

"Good," I said, "Let's keep it that way."

"I plan on it," she said, leaving.

I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to Baker Street, without the feeling I was being followed.

**A/N: Well, that's the end, again! I'm not planning on writing anymore, but if I get enough reviews, I will! R/R!**


	3. The Landlady

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**A/N: Well, here's chapter three! I hope you like it!**

**Chapter Three: The Landlady**

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I'm Ms. Smithers. I am the landlady of Miss Zinnia George. She's a good tenant. She pays me on time, and keeps her flat well kept. She's always going outside with her camera. 

When I ask her where she's going, or what's she doing, she responds, "Oh, just going for a walk, and taking photographs, Ms. Smithers."

She doesn't specify what the objects of her photographs are, but it has something to do with being outside. She's almost constantly going out to take her photographs, and other times, holes up in her flat, clipping out articles in just about every newspaper in London. She's very odd, she is.

She has a small room in her flat that she won't let me enter when I go to clean her already tidy flat. I wonder what she keeps in there. I told all this to my friend, Mrs. Henrietta Bowersox, and _she _suggested maybe a corpse or something. I told her she was being silly.

"Well, it's still possible," she said.

"No it's not! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," I replied.

"Well, why don't you ask her then," Henrietta asked.

"Because, I don't want to pry into that woman's life," I proclaimed.

"You're too afraid to," said Henrietta.

"I am no such thing," I said.

"If you say so," said Henrietta, obviously not believing me.

"It's true," I tried again.

"Well, I'll take your word for it, but I've got to go to my friend Melissa's house for tea," she said, getting up to leave.

_Finally, _I thought, after Henrietta had gone. _That woman loves to meddle, and gossip!_

A few minutes later, I heard Zinnia going upstairs to her flat.

"Hello, Ms. Smithers," she cheerfully called, halfway up.

"Hello, Zinnia. How'd your outing go? Get a lot of pictures," I inquired.

"It was good. I got a few," she answered, continuing on her way.

I wondered what on earth that girl took photographs of, _and what she keeps in that small room in her flat._

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**A/N: Well, I know it's kind of short, but I'm working on ch.4, also from Ms. Smithers' POV. We all _know what Zinnia takes pictures of, and what she keeps hidden in the Small Room, don't we? R/R!!!!!!_**


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